Novak Djokovic, Cacao and Hawthorn

The Day I Let Go of NHS Midwifery

As Gerald and I sat in our living room watching Carlos Alcaraz claim his second Wimbledon title, I was taken back to our drive to The Old Rectory in Killyman exactly fifty-two weeks earlier.

The sun was shining that day, too. As we cruised along the motorway, we listened to the Wimbledon final on the radio. Carlos was twenty years old then and, just like on that Sunday a year later, he was playing against Novak Djokovic.

It was a pleasant drive and Gerald and I talked about how we liked the youthful energy of the Spanish player. He was popular with the crowd, easy to like, but we really wanted Djokovic to win.

Novak Djokovic had become a beacon for us during the madness of the previous years, especially when he gave up his chance to pursue a 21st Grand Slam title at the Australian Open in January 2022. A win would have pushed him ahead of Rafael Nadal with whom he was tied at 20 titles alongside Roger Federer.

This tournament was important to him and yet he let it go so that he could stay true to himself.

We admired his commitment to his principles - which happened to be our principles - as much as his dedication to his craft, his ambition and his grit. Most importantly we felt less alone at a time when we, too, had given up our freedom of movement for bodily autonomy.

That day, on July 16th 2023, this man's experience and skill were being challenged by youth and ambition and according to the bookies Carlos was favourite to win.

This was set to be a big match.

I have always loved watching athletes across all kinds of disciplines. There’s much to learn from those who dedicate themselves to mastering body, mind, and spirit, and the men and women on the courts in Wimbledon are among the greatest masters of our time.

By the time we parked at The Old Rectory it looked a lot like Novak would lift the trophy within the hour, he had just won the first set 1-6; in my mind this seemed to be a sure thing.

I remember the car being warm from the sun streaming through the front window during our drive, and I loved the way that warmth settled into my body. Those few days of sunshine that we are granted here in Northern Ireland are especially beautiful and this day would turn out to be one of them.

The light that day reminded me of car rides during the German summers of my childhood. They were sultry and sticky, the air thick with heat even with the window down, even outside. There’s a slow, pensive energy in the German midsummer heat that still appeals to me, and those days hold some of my favourite childhood memories: weekend drives to the lakes or outdoor pools in the stifling heat anticipating the shock of cold water on my skin.

Heat here is rarely heat as I’ve known it growing up and I find myself wishing for more and hotter sunshine every summer, and then the rain reminds me that the luscious green on this island that I love so much could never be sustained through the kind of summer sun I keep trying to conjure.

I turned off the ignition and we grabbed our yoga mats, blankets and pillows. We didn’t know what to expect from the ‘wellness day’ I’d signed us up for.

The event was a fundraiser for a baby-loss charity.

I had met the organiser briefly and I knew of the little boy she’d lost. I wanted to support her and thought Gerald and I would appreciate a day of yoga, chanting, dancing, meditating and meeting new people.

‘Tús Nua’.

I didn’t know then that Tús Nua means “new beginnings”; Or that it would mark the end of an era and a new beginning for me, personally.

The promise was that our day would be “filled with all things healing, with a sense of community, friendship, and love.” According to our tickets, we would “have a chance to take part in many different ceremonies and practices led by a range of practitioners and teachers.”

We followed the signs on the path, through a landscaped garden, and into a hall. We were among the last to arrive, so we squeezed our yoga mats in behind a friend’s and settled in for the opening ceremony.

It was my first time taking part in a cacao ceremony, the communal sharing of a drink made from pure, raw cacao.

First, we were introduced to cacao as a healing plant.

Cacao is full of antioxidants and minerals, and it is considered a health food. Gerald and I have replaced milk chocolate with ever darker chocolate over the years for that very reason.

On a physical level, cacao is said to support cardiovascular health by improving circulation. On a spiritual level, cacao is said to open the heart chakra - which makes sense, given that its antioxidants cause blood vessels to relax temporarily, lowering blood pressure by dilating the microvessels in your peripheral circulation. There's less resistance to blood flow then and that allows your blood and the oxygen within it to gently swell into every single crevice of your body, all of your organs and muscles (including your heart).

Then the cacao was served. Each of us walked up to have a ladleful poured into the cups we’d brought along. There was a flow to it as we walked back in a circle to sit with our cup of cacao until everyone had their turn. We would all drink it together with the intention to inquire within so that perhaps our heart’s desires would be revealed to us.

I couldn’t stop smiling the entire time.

Partly because I could feel my vessels open as I sipped (another welcome rush of heat through my body), and partly because I was reminded of all the Saturdays during my childhood when my mother made hot chocolate from ‘real’ cacao. I remembered the sticky paste she made in a cup before pouring it into the fresh full fat milk warming on the stove.

Then came the sugar, lots of it (sugar and milk were absent in our cups of cacao at Tús Nua).

Saturday’s cacao came with freshly baked bread that was layered thickly with a smear of unsalted butter. Dunking the bread into the hot cacao produced little pearls of fat that floated on top, giving the liquid chocolate a golden hue. The German rye bread, soaked in melted butter and chocolate milk, tasted of comfort and home.

It was easy then to identify my heart’s desire: More bread, butter and hot chocolate!

There was no doubt.

But this time was different. I sat quietly, trying to focus on my heart space, listening to the sound of a beating drum.

What was my heart’s desire now?

Was anything missing in my life?

Did anything (or anyone) need to leave my life?

There was a whisper deep inside, but I couldn’t make it out.

Not yet.

I wondered if it was a lot to ask of the bitter, watery chocolate I held in my hand.

After all, it was just cacao, wasn’t it?

But then this felt like it mattered somehow. Was it the intention, the presence of everyone around us, my consenting into the contract of sharing this moment in reverence for this substance?

Was it much different to sharing any other kind of meditation I had ever engaged in?

Different from yoga?

From breathwork?

Would there be a revelation?

The ceremony closed with an overview of the rest of the day’s offerings. I stepped outside barefoot and forgot all about the cacao.

There had been a drizzle of rain while we were inside and the grass under my feet felt lush and cool. The sun was back and it heated the grass and pavements. I walked the perimeter and eventually bumped into Gerald again. We walked side by side for a while.

Somewhere over there some young folks were having a rave in the sun. The yoga had been cancelled.

Gerald went to check out an activity and I sat outside the Lomi Lomi tent and was invited in for a massage.

‘“Amazing!” I said, lying down for my massage. It was bliss.

About an hour later Gerald found me by the tent. We got some food and wandered around grounding ourselves noting the different textures under the soles of our feet. The ground was warm now, and I could feel the heat rising through the soles of my feet, travelling up my limbs and into my core. The sun beamed down from above.

We were happy.

“That massage was amazing, Gerald,” I told him. “You should definitely try it.”

So Gerald waited outside the Lomi Lomi tent for his turn, while I tagged along with a friend to yet another meditation.

This one was a Shamanic Journey.

Another ceremonial ingestion of plant medicine: hawthorn tea in this instance.

It reminded me of all the herbal teas my gran used to make for me. There was always a concoction on the go, always! Hibiscus with fennel one day, peppermint the next and chamomile for a sore belly. Being a modern woman of the ‘80s, my gran had taken to enjoying her tea with a little pill of aspartame because “sugar makes you fat.”

Bless her.

If my memory serves me right, she had given up on her nifty little poison dispensers sometime between then and her 90th birthday some thirty years later.

Once we had sipped our hawthorn tea, there was another invitation to self enquiry, this time through a partner exercise.

Lock eyes with a stranger and ask each other the question:

“What is holding you back?”

The answer came in a flash: “My regulator!”

The meditation that followed was to provide us with guidance and help us overcome the obstacle we had just identified.

I will share more about how exactly the solution revealed itself to me in my next post.

By the time I was finished, the news from Wimbledon was in.

Gerald told me the young Spaniard had duelled Djokovic to the bitter end. It turned out to be the longest Wimbledon final in history. Carlos Alcaraz beat Novak Djokovic in five sets: 1–6, 7–6(8–6), 6–1, 3–6, 6–4.It took them 4 hours and 42 minutes to thrash it out.

Wow! The disappointment didn’t last long, who wouldn't cheer for a twenty-year-old with a trophy?

On the car ride home I revealed my plan of handing my midwifery registration back to the Nursing and Midwifery Council. I had breached the subject before, but thus far Gerald had been feeling uneasy about the prospect of me giving up the option of working in the health service ever again.

I told him about the meditation and how certain I was that this was the right path for me. This time, he wasn’t afraid for me.

He backed me up immediately.

He understood the conflict I felt in continuing to represent medical midwifery and I still love him for strengthening my resolve in that moment.

Night had fallen by the time we reached the motorway. The stars were out.

We talked about our day, about the connection we felt during the Kirtan at the end when we shared stories and song with beautiful strangers and beloved friends.

We talked about Novak Djokovic and Carlos Alcaraz.

We talked about birth, and death, and everything in between.

We talked about the future.

I wonder what it was that finally allowed me to hear my inner voice that day, and let go of the registration. Was it the conversation we had about Novak Djokovic's conviction to give up something he loved in order to stay true to himself? Or was it the constant connection that day to my subconscious mind through meditation? Was it the cacao or the hawthorn? Or was it the bare feet on the earth and the sun on my crown? Was it the combination of it all that finally revealed that it was time to let go? Although I had been thinking about giving up my registration before, the final resolve that rolled over me that day came as a complete surprise and I am glad I got to experience this complete knowing that I was doing the right thing.

Tús Nua will always stay with me as one of the most pivotal experiences of my life.

364 days later watching the tennis in my living room, I thought about everything that had happened since that day. So much had changed not least the dynamics on Centre Court (this year Carlos Alcaraz only needed three sets to defeat his opponent).

Change is inevitable and it is constant; In tennis, in football (next time, England!), in business and in our personal lives.

Change is good and New Beginnings are ushered in by closing the book on an old chapter.

'...beginnings and ends are hinged together and folded back against each other, like shutters, like angels' wings...' (Jeannette Winterson, from The Lion, The Unicorn and Me).

Something shifted for me that day at Tús Nua, and I’ve been following the thread ever since. If you’re curious where this journey is going and if you would like to witness me in writing my first novel, subscribe to join me on the path. I’ll be publishing regular updates on Justine - The Spark Within, the historical fiction project about a German midwife in the 17th century I have been pouring my heart into.